Cloak-and-Dragon
by NebulaFad
Summary: Hiccup, all happy-go-lucky about fitting in with the big vikings, disobeys orders during a raid. He goes out, tries to use one of his 'practical' inventions, and of course, everything goes wrong. Days away from the Archipelago, thanks to a Night Fury all high-and-mighty, things turn around. His comfortability goes uphill, but like bad times, all good times shall pass as well.


So this is basically the very beginning of the first movie, with a few small changes. Also, Hiccup, instead of being fifteen or sixteen, is around thirteen.

Eventually, people die here. Whether it's the sicknesses, or the old age, or an inexperienced warrior's pretentious attitude being his inevitable downfall to the beasts, there is some form of claw that rakes through a Viking's chest. Some sooner rather than later. It was an unspoken thing, a silent reality on Berk that Hiccup would be the easiest. Born sick, growing up weak and introverted, and absolutely no involvement in anything other than forging and technical design. The thin, pathetic son of the Chief. Whereas Hiccup's lineage before him included the typical, six-and-a-half foot vikings that weighed two-hundred pounds easy with the passed down muscle to fight against the pests of this land.  
On this usual night of fires, heat blistering the air in bursts from the sky, Hiccup was a nuisance as usual. People regarded him as a wild animal, of sorts. He could either quit being useless prey scurrying around the vikings' feet or he could live up to his blood and make a kill. Everybody, with one look at him, knew what would be the greater possible outcome. Big eyes, wiry arms with nervous fists, and a voice like a duck with a nasal infection.  
Tonight he was doing the usual; sticking around in the forge, sharpening weapons, and then slinking off when his father wasn't in sight. Mostly he was dodged, because he was smaller, not dragging one of his defective creations behind him. People ignored him, and he ran around with a strained look on his face. Not knowing exactly why, but he needed to find his dad. The small boy supposed it was because he had seen the nerve-wrecking shadow flitting in the sky, only something that very careful or very lucky eyes could spot.  
As if on cue, a thick but nevertheless loud voice shouted for cover. A livid cobalt and unmistakable screech whipped though the air, and the blast of blue fire coming from nowhere hit a fire tower, and chunks of flaming wood flew to the ground, landing on vikings' shoulders or raining on other fire-breathing, air-bound predators. Once a few moments went by, and there were no obvious signs of the Black Beast of the Night, people immediately moved back into their routine of throwing battle axes at wings and running from the toxic green gas that spread like a plague.  
The remarkable Chief, Stoick the Vast, the father to dead weight, was then faced with an enormous, enormously-horned flying reptile, the Monstrous Nightmare. It's skin was flaming, and it's eyes were malicious, desiring death in the near future. It glowered at the massively bearded man, thinking it just a little bit tougher. The Chief handled the beast in only several blows with his large fists.  
It was then when he turned around that he saw the small green figure of his runt son, running towards him. Stoick automatically prepared for shouting and a stubborn near-teen child. He was carrying a trio of metal orbs with ropes spilling from his fishbone arms.  
"Back to the forge, now! You had one job to do, and you still can barely do that!" The words hit Hiccup as they did often, but the more it happened, the less they affected him. Consciously, that is. They rolled off, and the lanky teen kept coming. His father sighed, preparing to lecture him and yell again about getting back to the forge, where weapons must be stacking up again.  
"Wait, behind you!" He was yelling, still over a dozen feet away from his father.  
"Hiccup, I do not have time for your-" He was cut off by another screech cutting the air in half. A blue explosive ball and cloud of indigo wisps pounded the wood planks to the left of him. The force blew the Chief to his side, and his son choked on a scream, dodging to the side and skidding on his feet. The metals balls and ropes spilled from his arms, rolling across the ground.  
"Dad!" Out of the energy from his panic and adrenaline, he mustered the strength to throw the net, and a ways after the direction of the blast, where the Night Fury would be flying about now, he threw the net with all he could. It disappeared from his sight after a few seconds of flying into the sky, and after a few seconds of it being gone, a thud and a smaller smaller screech sounded through the darkness.  
"Hiccup!" The Chief yelled, for his son's safety. The weak child had obviously angered the NIght Beast, so now he had to go absolutely. What caught his eye before he caught his son's attention was a growing shadow. A extremely fast blot of black in front of the fires, growing with each second. The closer it got, the more easily seen were its glowing yellow-green eyes, with narrow pupils. Stoick hobbled to his feet, needing to get his son out of the open. Out of everyone in the close area, Hiccup was the easiest target. He was now getting to his feet, the force of the throw having knocked him off of them. Before Stoick could gallop to his son, he was already crying out, arms locked in the grip of what looked like black air.


End file.
